No Regrets, Right?
by floopowderpower731
Summary: It's that time of year again, leaving awkward tensions between Arthur and Alfred. USUK
1. Chapter 1

Arthur let out an irritated sigh as he woke up that morning. He sat up in his bed frowning out his window at how stupidly sunny the weather had decided to be today. "Figures," he grumbled to himself as he slipped on some trousers and went downstairs to fix himself some tea.

Usually he would have one of his workers make it for him, but presently he was staying at his summer home he visited when he felt like taking some time off. Plus he just liked the task of making it himself. He looked up out his kitchen window. Of all the days _not _to rain, it just had to be today. He thought maybe he could use the rain as an excuse not to go this year, but now _that _was out of the question.

A wave of heat hit him as he stepped on his porch to grab the morning paper. "Ugh, humidity." He bent down to reach for it before he noticed there was a blue envelope perched on top of the newspaper. He knew who it was from of course before he even picked it up. That damned wanker somehow managed every year, without fail, to have invitations sent out to every damned country to announce to the world it was the fucking Fourth of July.

He tossed the envelope on his coffee table as he went inside without bothering to open it. He opened up the newspaper as he stalked into the kitchen and plopped himself down at his kitchen table to read it. He sincerely hoped that a good cup of tea and a decent article could keep his mind off things and maybe lift his foul mood. A little smile crept across his face as he read about some financial troubles in France. _Serves him right, the frog. _He took a nice long sip as he turned the page, only to nearly spit it out at the sight of the next article.

There, in the middle of the page, was America's stupidly idiotic grin plastered over top a short article about some patriotic crap. He was winking to the camera while giving a thumbs-up to the crowd of people behind him, waving little American flags at the press.

"God DAMN IT!" He yelled as he threw it on the ground in disgust. He stormed up the stairs, grumbling to himself on the way, leaving his tea to get cold. He angrily undressed and got in the shower, not caring that it was too hot. He tried scrubbing his frustrations away as he adjusted to the heat.

_How the hell did that bastard get himself into a British freaking newspaper?_ Arthur had met the Editor in Chief on a few occasions for interviews on his opinions on the county's welfare and what-not. He really didn't care for the fellow very much. He was quite strict and kind of blunt with absolutely no sense of humor. He smirked at the thought of Alfred bursting in, demanding for an article about himself with that stupid grin on his face not giving the man room to argue. Just imagining the bewildered look on his face was enough to brighten his mood, even a little bit.

_It wasn't like he could really decline anyways, _he thought to himself as he turned the shower off. Despite being an idiot, he was still a country, which gave him authority. Even as just a normal person, he left quite the impression. He wrapped a towel around himself and strode over to his bedroom across the hall to change into some light summer clothes. He wondered to himself if Alfred had pulled this little stunt in any other countries, or if it was just to irritate him specifically. _Probably the latter, _he thought, annoyed. He decided he might as well go for a walk to clear his mind of unpleasant thoughts.

As he stepped outside he squinted at the cloudless sky. Strange how uncharacteristic the weather was being today. He noticed it had gone up in degrees since this morning. As he walked down the road he enjoyed the sound of near silence, just the sound of nature. He didn't care much for noisy neighbors, and sometimes just liked being alone.

For about ten minutes he walked until he reached the end of the road where there was a small wooden playground next to a pond. The park was surrounded by trees, so he was thankful for the shade as he sat on a bench next to the water. After a while he saw a pair of boys run into the playground. One was older than the other and he watched the smaller one try to use the swing on his own, nearly falling flat on his face in the process. Laughing, the older one helped his little brother, immediately cheering the little one up.

Arthur smiled to himself. The little boy's clumsiness kind of reminded him of—no. His smile faded as he quickly dismissed those kinds of thoughts, smacking himself mentally for letting his mind wander to such things. Those days were over and they weren't ever coming back. He had to face that sooner or later.

He got up, angry with himself, and walked back home. He arrived in a worse mood than when he had left, and it was his own damned fault. He plopped onto the couch and put his face in his hands, trying to think rationally. Centuries had passed since that time, so why does this feeling always come every year at this time? He most certainly didn't regret any of the decisions he had made, so why the hell did this pain in his gut come to haunt him every Independence Day?

He sat up and refused to think about it anymore. He looked over to his coffee table and at the neglected envelope. It was stupid. All of this. These thoughts, these memories… Slowly weighing thoughts in his head, he reached over and opened it. Not surprisingly, the card was all stars and stripes with confetti that annoyingly fell to his clean carpet. Opening it, he noticed it was all handwritten, as usual.

As you all surely know, the day has come to heroically celebrate

the glorious day of my Independence! You won't wanna miss it!

There'll be loads of food to munch on! Plus a free bar for all to enjoy!

It's gonna be total kick-ass y'all! Come to my place at 7 and don't be late!

-The Hero

Rolling his eyes at his disgraceful English, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It didn't really seem like he had much of a choice. If he didn't go, he knew Al would pester him for _weeks _afterwards. Whether he went or not, he would have to face him sooner or later. He smiled. Plus if there was a free bar, he could finally prove to that bastard that he really could hold his liquor better than him!

**Ta-da! My very first Fanfiction! Phew! Is it always this hard to upload a file? Anyway, chapter 2 is in the works, don't worry it gets more exciting at the party. Plus, this time it'll be Al's POV. Please R&R! Tell me how I did! Fingers are crossed. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred plopped down onto his couch in between Gil and Mattie, beer in hand, as he and the group surrounding him practically yelled a conversation to one another over the blaring of the speakers behind them.

"Hey, hey! The man o' the hour!" Gil shouted, clearly on the verge of being drunk, as he slapped him hard on the back. "Well I am the hero! 'Sup guys, what're we talkin' about?" Alfred asked loudly as he spread his arms casually over the back of the sofa.

Kiku leaned over to him from his spot across from him perched on the coffee table. "America-san, you see those two over there by the dance floor?" He pointed over Alfred's shoulder, and he turned to see who he was talking about. Off to the side past the large group of dancers stood Germany and Italy, a hot topic of discussion as of late, being as they both clearly had feelings for each other, though neither one would admit it. They were either too embarrassed or too afraid to say anything.

They were standing next to each other awkwardly stealing glances at the other, then quickly looking away. Italy clearly looked like he wanted to dance, but didn't want to leave Germany alone. Germany looked on the verge of asking, but something was stopping him.

"Why doesn't he just ask him to dance, aru? Nothing is ever going to happen if they just stand there."

"Are you kidding?" Gilbert shouted suddenly. "West couldn't keep rhythm if his life depended on it!"

"It's quite despicable, actually," Roderich pointed out, shaking his head in disgust.

"So he can't dance, huh?" Al said as an idea formed in his head. "Well parties aren't all about dancing. You guys ever heard of Seven Minutes in Heaven?" A devious smile spread across his face. Kiku blushed but nodded his head and whipped out his camera from seemingly nowhere. "I'm in," Gil nodded his head and smiled an equally (maybe even more so) evil grin. Slowly everybody nodded their heads in agreement.

The plan was to get them to think that everybody was going to play this "game," though they wouldn't tell them exactly what it was, and put their names in a little paper bag. Ludwig would do it just because everyone else was in on it, and Feli would do it just because he was a bit of an airhead. If needed, they would use pasta as their secret weapon. Then, just by chance, both their names would be pulled, and before either of them could protest, into the closet they would go.

"Ohonhon~. This sounds like an especially devious plan. Gilbert and I will do ze honors, no?" Francis grinned and both he and Gil sauntered over to the unlikely duo.

Alfred laughed and was about to go join them when he noticed from the corner of his eye someone familiar coming through his front door. Seeing that it was none other than Arthur, he immediately brightened up, and was about to give him one of his infamous America-glomps, before he really took in Arthur's appearance. He paused and noticed he was wearing a light green button-up shirt that exposed just a little bit of his chest. He rarely saw him in such normally casual attire, but when he did, it was—well, attractive. _No, what am I saying? _He shook his head to clear it of ridiculous thoughts.

As Arthur walked in he noticed how crowded and noisy it was. _Well, America does know how to throw quite the party, _he thought as he scratched his head, taking it all in. _Not exactly my idea of a party, but—_

"ENGLAAAND!" Came a familiar voice off to his right. "Oh, gr-," he started, but before he could form a proper sentence, he was nearly knocked to the ground as he was tackled by none other than Alfred himself.

"Get—OFF—you git!" Arthur struggled to get free of America's death-grip on him, but to no prevail.

"You're late, Artie! And after all the trouble I went through to bring you that invite!" Alfred looked up at him and flashed him the puppy-dog eyes that used to be able to get him anything when he was a kid. Finally able to shove him off, he took in what Al had said. "Wait, you—" He was then cut off by two hairy arms grabbing him around his waist from behind.

"You are here, mon ami! Join in ze party!" The bearded perv waved a glass of red wine in front of his face. England swiftly punched him in the nose. "I am no friend of yours, pervy frog-face." France rose from the place he had fallen on the ground, trying to look dignified while rubbing his bruised face.

Before a full-out brawl ensued, America piped up, "Yo, France! Did you take care of those two lovebirds?" He stood between the two to avoid blood being spilled on his white carpet.

"Oui, I took care of zem alright," he said, shooting his more-than-mildly-disturbing glance towards a nearby broom closet Gilbert was guarding.

"What are you going on about?" Arthur demanded, stepping out from behind America. He grinned. "See, I came up with this idea right?" And Alfred proceeded to tell him about their little shenanigans. England blushed a little at the idea, though he wasn't quite sure why. _So America really has grown up quite a lot hasn't he? …Of course he has, what am I saying?_

He noticed there was a change in the song blaring from the speakers. America breathed in an overly-dramatic gasp. "I LOVE THIS SONG!" He then proceeded to flail his arms and jump around like a maniac, which England assumed must be his way of dancing. Arthur paused to listen to the song playing. It sounded like a remix of Set Fire to the Rain.

"Hey, this is Adele!" He yelled over top the music that had suddenly grown louder. Al paused his spaz-dancing. "You listen to Adele?"

"Well, on occasion. She _is _from London you know!" He yelled back. Honestly, he could be such an ignorant twat sometimes. "Actually, Adele originates from _my _country," Korea popped up out from behind France. He was then swiftly cut off by a chop to the head, via China.

"C'mon! Let's go dance, dude!" Alfred suddenly took hold of Arthur's hand and dragged him across the room to the dance floor. "Wha—hey, don't refer to me as '_dude',_" England said, though he was sure the idiot couldn't hear him. He looked down at their joined hands. He remembered fleetingly how they used to always hold hands when America was just a little colony. Such small hands back then. Innocent, clean hands. Now Alfred's hands had grown, become bigger than his own, even. These hands that were now tainted with bloodshed and war and—

"Hey! Earth to England! Helloo!" Arthur snapped back to reality to see Al's face staring worriedly at his. "Dude, you can let go of my hand now." Arthur looked down and saw his hand was still tightly clenched to Al's. "Ah, sorry," embarrassed, he quickly jerked his hand away. Damn these stupid memories. And damn the Fourth of July, too.

"Hey, seriously, you alright?" Alfred's deep blue eyes stared questioningly into Arthur's green ones. He had to look away. "It's nothing," he said bluntly, not revealing anything. _I really shouldn't have come, _he thought as he turned to walk away. _This happens every year, why did I think this time would be any different? _

Alfred grabbed his wrist. "Dude, do we need to talk about this?" Alfred was really being serious, a side of him only Arthur had really seen. It pissed him off, that face. "We most certainly do not!" He jerked away from him and started to walk off. Before he could, however, Al's hand gripped his shoulder and turned him around to face him again.

"We're friends right? Friends can talk to friends about their feelings… Listen, if this is about our past—"

"Shut up," England pushed his hand off his shoulder. America persisted.

"Are you still upset about the Revolutio-?"

"I SAID SHUT UP!"

Some imaginary cord that had kept England composed all this time, a cord that had slowly dwindled down to a string since the moment he had woken up this morning, had finally snapped. He brought up his hand and swiftly slapped the idiot on his right cheek. The sound seemed to echo as the song ended and everyone turned to stare, Alfred's head turned to the side from the force, a look of shock on his otherwise innocent face.

Immediately after it happened, he regretted it. There was nothing he could do however, as a new song started and everyone went back to their various activities. Words of apology formed on his lips, but somehow nothing came out. Before Al could turn to look back at him again, he turned on his heel and ran out the front door as fast as he could. He thought he heard his name being called out, but he didn't turn back.

_Damn it._

**Okay I give you chapter two! Yes I know I added a little GerIta in there without warning, but I thought a little blurb about them would be cute (even though they're not really one of my OTP's). And no, it wasn't Al's POV the whole time, I just like writing for Arthur apparently. Bring on the drama!**

**Will Alfred ever forgive him?**

**Will Arthur learn to face his feelings?**

**Will Francis rape an unsuspecting by-stander?**

**Questions will (maybe) be answered all in the next and final chapter! I think it's the final chapter anyway, not sure yet… Please R&R! Tell me if this totally bombed or if it went okay! I really don't know!**


	3. Chapter 3

Still kind of shocked over what had just happened, France pulled his eyes away from the door that had just slammed, to America, still standing in the middle of the dance floor. His glasses had fallen off onto the ground, and as he reached to pick them up he noticed how he quickly and discreetly wiped his eye, though he knew he would never admit to anyone that he was crying. The hurt look on his face, however, showed the emotions he was trying to hide.

He started to walk towards the door to chase after that eyebrows bastard, but Francis stopped him. "America, I know England well enough to know zat he probably needs time to cool off." It was true; when Arthur got like this it wasn't easy to get him to apologize directly. "I vill go talk to him, no?" He gave Alfred a reassuring smile.

"Sure, okay dude," Al grinned a little, bringing back his usual self. Francis left him there to follow England and find wherever he had run off to. _He couldn't have gone far; Europe was an entire ocean away._ He sighed to himself. _Why can't those two just get along for once? They obviously have ze hots for each other. _He knew this of course, being France, the country of romance.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. He grinned that famed grin of his. _Maybe if their little love story doesn't work out, I can finally get England to sleep vith me. _"Ohonhonhon~," he laughed to himself. _You vill be mine tonight. _

Spurred by this new idea, he went into a light jog and continued searching for Arthur. America's manicured lawn had colored lights strung beautifully from his roof down to the ground, creating an almost waterfall effect. There were other colored lights planted in the ground arranged to look like a giant American flag. The long, cobblestone path that led from the front door went down further and widened up into a circle with a tiered fountain displayed in the middle that had more colored lights shining through the water, making it look as though the water itself was multicolored. That is where Francis found him, sitting on the side of the fountain, looking nostalgically at the stars. He hadn't yet noticed France's presence, so he decided to stay unnoticed for now.

He could have sworn, even from this angle, he saw a tear slip silently down his cheek, and he heard him whisper something softly to the night sky.

"I'm sorry."

Thinking back, Francis couldn't remember ever hearing Arthur say those words to anyone before. He was such a stubborn guy all the time, no one could see through to this side of him. His romantic blood kicked in on over drive. _Damn it. _Despite how much he may want to have Arthur as his own (trust me, he _really _does), he knew that he had to bring these two lovers into the light. Yes, despite popular belief, he did have morals, and he needed them to know how much they cared for one another. He wouldn't rest until this was resolved.

Walking over, he went to sit next to him. Arthur was startled out of the little trance he was in. Before he could do it himself, France held his face in his hands and wiped the stray tear away with his thumb. Though he would probably slap him for this later when he was back to his senses, France pulled him closer into a loving embrace.

"H-hey, what do you think you're—"

"You should apologize to him to his face, you know," Francis looked directly into his brilliant green eyes that shown from the light of the fountain. Arthur looked away at the ground. "I can't," his expression changed to one of regret and defeat.

"And why ze hell not?" Francis turned his face to look at him.

"I…because...I'm a damned—coward," his words came out broken by hitched breaths as unstoppable tears started flowing freely down his cheeks. Francis had never seen him show such weakness before, and to him of all people. "I'm an idiot—who can't face his feelings—and hurts the ones he—loves." The last word came out softly, almost a whisper, but it had certainty behind it. "I made him cry…again. Why do I always make him cry?" Arthur said, half to himself.

This broken soul in front of him needed to be mended. He knew that job could only be fulfilled by one person: Alfred. Sighing, he brought England's face to look at him again. "He loves you, you know."

England's eyes went wide as he stared at him for a moment. "He—what?" Arthur, realizing all of a sudden he was crying in front of his sworn enemy, wiped his eyes quickly with the back of his hand. "He said that he—he loves me?" Arthur stared at France, skeptical.

"Well, not exactly said it out loud. But ze way he looks at you…something in his eyes. One could easily tell he has feelings for you." Arthur just stared back at him. "Trust me on zis, mon ami. I am ze country of romance, no?" Giving him a weird look, Arthur smacked him lightly on the jaw.

"What was zat for?" Francis looked offended, back at him. _After all my efforts to help this person, and he just goes and—_

"Thank you," England rose from his spot on the fountain. "W-what?" Was he hearing correctly? He could have sworn that bastard just said _thank you. _

"I said get away from me, frog." _Well, there goes the sentiment, _Francis thought, mildly annoyed. Though when he said it, he was smiling. He watched as eyebrows walked back to the house. He wondered what that strange man was going to do next.

_Probably something stupid._

**Yes, I know it's a little short. Oh well. Don't worry this isn't the last chapter. There's more to come, just wait! :) Originally it wasn't going to be in France's POV (I don't really like him that much), but once the idea got in my head it just seemed to get better and better. Btw, he had a little Tamaki moment there, did you notice? :D Though I surely wasn't planning for it ****_all _****to be his POV, but it ended on such a good note I figured, aw screw it he needs love anyway. Also, I hadn't really intended this to be so sad, it just…happened. :( Please R&R! Tell me how I did! Until next time, see ya!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay so, no I **_**haven't**_** died and gone to Hetalia Heaven...yet. Clearly, it's not summer anymore, like it was when I started this. Which means there was school...and other things that are supposedly "more important." But I'm back! Also, apparently I like writing angst...so prepare yourself for my longest chapter, that just so happens to be...you guessed it!...angst. After saying angst so many times it doesn't sound like a word...angstangstangstangst(off on a tangent). Enjoy this chapter! **

After France left to go find him, Alfred really didn't know what to do with himself. Standing alone in the middle of the dance floor he felt out of place as smiling couples twirled past him. It felt suffocating. Pushing past them, he realized he just desperately wanted to be alone right now, which wasn't the easiest thing when you have a house crowded with literally the whole world. He couldn't believe how humiliating that was, having that little scene played out in front of everyone. He usually wasn't one to let his ego falter. He tried to ignore the questioning looks people gave him as he walked past. They all probably wanted to know what had happened; it was only natural to be curious. But he wasn't going to give them that right. At this point he didn't want to be talked to, let alone sympathized.

As if some other-worldly force was going against everything he seemed to want today, Kiku tugged on his sleeve, stopping him. "America-san, is everything alright?" Alfred turned to see the short, over-polite man looking at him with concern in his eyes. "I'm fine. It's nothing." He knew that Kiku probably didn't believe him, but he didn't care. He didn't want people to think he needed comforting. Heroes don't need pity.

He flashed him a fake grin. "Look. Really, I'm fine, dude!" Kiku was still hesitant, but he didn't want to pry. That would be impolite. He didn't stop Alfred as he turned and walked towards the stairway. Walking past the same broom closet, he noticed Feliciano was cuddling into Ludwig's side on the couch in the living room. He noticed Ludwig's ears getting red as the Italian stole a kiss on the lips. _Good for _freaking _them. _

He stormed up his staircase to find solace in his bedroom. Flopping himself onto his newly-made bed, he went into rage mode-usually reserved for 1-P shooting games-on his pillows, punching them furiously as if they were the source of his problems. "Stupid fucking England, why the hell can't he just fucking die in a hole!" Sounding much like a certain Italian he knew, he ranted to nobody as he continued to beat the crap out of his bed. He knew nobody could hear him. He could still feel the bass booming from the speakers downstairs making his floor vibrate a little. The only people he could think of that might be upstairs were his workers, though he was sure the mess downstairs was keeping them occupied.

What the hell was England's problem? He was older, _he _was supposed to be the mature one. Yet he was the one who just couldn't let it go. America thought he had put it behind _him_self centuries ago. That's why he even invited England to this every year, knowing perfectly well the risk of old wounds being opened, but choosing to show that British snob that he could be mature about this too. Arthur hadn't come the first couple of years he had thrown this annual get-together, and at the time Alfred thought it was merely out of spite.

The first year that England actually showed up came as a surprise to him. He thought that after a few years of England skipping out there must be some irreparable grudge he held against him, but that year he actually came. He was elated, of course. He felt that night that maybe England had finally accepted him for who he is, not the child he used to be. That night Alfred confessed his love for him. Given, they _were _both drunk late at night in a near-empty house–besides a drunk albino German snoring on the pool table and the frenchie in the guest bedroom with some chick he brought along. Under different circumstances he knew he probably wouldn't have said it, but Arthur's face was so close and his cologne was just _intoxicating. _Pink lips slightly parted and eyelids half-way closed...

Arthur had swiftly passed out after his confession. Not because he had been swept off his feet by this sudden revelation—ha, in his dreams, maybe—no, he was simply drunk off his ass. Al had to catch him to keep him from hitting his head. He remembered Arthur's face the next morning when he woke up sleeping next to him in his bed. Nothing had happened of course; Alfred had simply dragged him up to his bed—the guest bed was taken—and passed out right out next to him. He hated himself for thinking this, but he almost wish something _had _happened_. _The night hadn't exactly gone as he had planned and the pounding headache he got the next morning from his hangover and the pesky Brit next to him were definitely there to remind him of that fact. Once England was asleep though he was practically dead to the world until the next morning. Besides, taking advantage of someone when they're drunk isn't very heroic.

Arthur hadn't shown any signs of remembering anythingthat happened that night. Nothing, not a _thing._ He wasn't exactly surprised, but the thought made him want to kick himself knowing that he would have to go through the confession allover again. A sudden thought occurred to him that he hadn't considered before: what if Arthur _had—_unlikely as it was—remembered every word of Alfred's, and had simply been so disgusted by the thought of love between a former pirate—former Great British Empire at that—and what he still saw as a mere child in his eyes, that he had pulled the "drunkard card" on him.

Without realizing it, tears had started streaming down his cheeks uncontrollably. Flinging his now foggy glasses across onto his night stand, he realized his arms had started hurting. "D-damn it...," he said softly as his voice became broken from the sobs. He didn't understand why he was so upset. England and him had gotten into countless fights before, more often than not becoming physical. That slap hadn't really hurt that much; he doubted it would even leave a mark. It was just that look in Arthur's face as it happened.

_He must really hate me..._

It probably would have been best if he hadn't invited him. He knew the history they had shared very clearly. He had rebelled against England without a single doubt; for his country, for his rights, and for his freedom. He still felt just as strongly about that statement as he had over two centuries ago that early morning in Lexington. That was where it started. He still remembered the look on England's face that one gloomy day, years later, as if it were yesterday. And that was how it ended. At the time he just thought it was weakness.

He remembered with a cold laugh all the trouble he went through to have England's invite hand-delivered to his front porch. England probably didn't even know; he most likely thought that Alfred did this to all the countries, not just him. Not to mention the whole newspaper ordeal, which was really more trouble than it was worth. He didn't even know if Arthur had even read the paper or not. "Why do I even _bother_?" He said aloud to no one in particular.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Fidgeting with the TV remote, he turned it on and grabbed a controller off the floor. Somehow killing zombies always seemed to help let his frustrations out. He knew eventually he would have to return to his guests and help set up the fireworks display that would start at midnight. For now he figured that a little Call of Duty would-

There was a knock on the door. He didn't pause the game and considered not answering it. Whoever it was knocked again though, so he annoyedly rolled off his bed and opened the door. It was Arthur. He had his fist in the air, mid-knock. He blinked and opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Alfred slammed the door back in his face. Alfred was surprised, to say the least, that he even had the nerve to come back here and knock on his door. Plus, it made him kind of pissed. _Did he really have the balls to come up here and apologize? Does he expect me to just up and forgive him, just like that?_

_No,_ he told himself. _No, it could never be that simple...not with him. _

"I don't care," he told himself, turning away from the door, hoping against hope he would just leave him the hell alone. He had half thought that Arthur might have just grabbed a plane by now back to Europe. He wouldn't have been surprised if he had. When Arthur wanted something, he'd do what it took, never once looking back. No regrets.

There was another, more consistent knock, this time with a muffled, "Alfred?" He clenched his fists in frustration. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy to shake Arthur off. He yanked open the door to see him there once again, this time with a more fixed expression on his face. This time he noticed he was holding a blue envelope in his hand at his side.

"And what the hell do you want?" Al spat out at him. Maybe a little harsher than was necessary, but the anger-driven adrenaline that rushed through him couldn't be stopped. Arthur blinked, surprised at his tone, but persisted. "I came to say I was sorry. What happened downstairs was foolish and uncalled for. I was acting childish and...and I ask that you might...forgive me." Arthur's eyes darted around, avoiding Alfred's eyes, but finally meeting those cold blue sapphires on the last phrase. _Forgive me. _His words came out rushed; they almost sounded rehearsed. Then again, England wasn't used to this whole apologetic side of things, though honestly he had meant every word.

For a moment, a brief second, Alfred considered doing just that. Just forgive him for the little skirmish and move on. _No...no it's more than that. _This wasn't one of their usual quarrels about America's diet or England's obscene cooking. This was deeper. Reaching back to the past they thought was forgotten, but still lingered like the coppery taste of blood after a battle. Re-opening wounds that had long since been stitched up. Looking painfully into Arthur's pure green orbs, he wondered what he saw there. Maybe not so pure as Alfred thought they were as a child. The child _before _the bloodshed. The child he knew Arthur still wished he was. And just knowing that, it hurt. It hurt like hell.


End file.
